A/N: Due to popular request, a sequel has been written! Celebrate at your own leisure.

Disclaimer: Would I really be on a fanfiction site if I owned the show or any of its characters?

Summary: Jimmy decides that Castiel needs nothing more than to grab Dean's butt. Destiel (duh). T for language.

-o-O-o-

At first, there was nothing but silence.

Dean did nothing but stare at Castiel in shock.

Castiel's eye twitched.

Sam looked bewildered, yet hopeful.

Jimmy did the mental equivalent of the Macarena.

"Dude…" Dean managed, mouth still slightly agape. His grip on his sawed-off had loosened considerably.

Castiel swallowed but didn't move. He seemed to be frozen. "Jimmy was very… persistent," he said by way of explanation.

Dean had just enough time to ask, "Who's Jimmy?" before the ghost reappeared.

After that, the scene dissolved from one more commonly seen in romantic-comedies to one of chaos. The ghost was in the middle of the room, surrounded by a cloud of debris it was tearing up from the floor and walls. Its eyes glowed purple, and its mouth was spread open wide in order to accommodate the manic laugh emanating from it.

Sam had been thrown against the wall at some point in the initial confusion, and Dean had already charged the ghost.

Castiel still stood where he'd been before the ghost had arrived, relishing in the sudden peace in his head; Jimmy had ceased his yelling, though he did wonder if the Macarena would ending up being any improvement at all.

There was an oompf from the other side of the room, and through his peripheral vision, Castiel saw Dean go flying into the far wall.

The thud Dean made when he landed against his brother on the floor drew Castiel's attention back to his present circumstances. He turned to the ghost, who grinned at him in anticipation. Castiel sighed. "Be gone," he ordered it.

And with a flash of bright yellow light, the ghost was put to rest.

After that, all it took was two fingers to each of the Winchesters' foreheads to get them back into standing positions.

The first thing Sam did when he came around was turn to Dean and say, "I told you so."

Dean blinked blearily, still slightly disoriented. "What?" he mumbled. He squinted in the brightness of the sunlight pouring through one of the shattered window panes and turned his face away from the direct light.

Sam glanced over at Castiel, and his hand twitched at his side, as if to say he's right there.

Dean heaved a long suffering sigh and wiped a hand over his face, as if this was a topic they'd been over frequently before. "If you're so convinced he's—" Dean cut off, as if unable to finish the sentence. "You ask him."

Castiel waited patiently, knowing that he wasn't going to let either brother out of the house without doing some explaining. If there was one thing heavenly wrath was good for, it was making people talk.

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for an excuse. "Wouldn't it be better if you did?"

Dean pushed himself up from the floor so that he could stand relatively eye-level with his younger brother. "Oh, no," he said, hands up defensively. "I did it last time," he reminded him, his tone so… off that Castiel began to worry about whatever it was that the brothers felt they needed to say.

"He won't lie to you," Sam countered.

Dean jerked his head back disbelievingly. "Oh, and as long as I ask, he's going to be under some oath of—of friggin' truth telling?"

Sam shrugged. "He likes you better?" he offered.

Dean's jaw went slack as he stared at his brother. "Low blow, you sonuvabitch," he muttered.

Sam crossed his arms and nodded toward Castiel, the universal sign for go ahead.

Castiel squinted at Dean in confusion, his chin tilting to one side. "What is it?" he asked.

Dean suddenly seemed entirely uncomfortable. "Uh," he stammered. "Well." He swallowed. "See, it's uh, it's complicated."

If it was at all possible, Castiel tilted his head farther to the side. "I'm fairly sure I'll be able to comprehend… whatever it is. I was able to keep everything straight during the war—both wars, actually."

"Yeah, no, I wasn't…" Dean seemed at a loss for words. "I wasn't saying you couldn't… dammit." The final word came out as a growl, and Dean turned so that he was facing the window that had caused him such annoyance a few moments prior.

"You're upset," Castiel realized sympathetically, albeit worriedly, and straightened out his head. What had made the brothers so uneasy?

Dean huffed out a wry laugh and ran a hand across his jaw. "You're a douchebag, Sam," he said over his shoulder.

From Castiel's right, he heard Sam echo Dean's unamused snort. "An intervention was your idea," he reminded his older brother.

Castiel's eyes widened ever so slightly at the word intervention, but he didn't turn away from Dean. "Tell me," he demanded. "Now."

But Dean didn't tell him. Instead, Dean spoke to the floor. "You know that uh, that day… in the house?"

Castiel squinted again. "We spend a lot of days in houses," he acknowledged the hunter.

"Yeah, we do," Dean said, as if this was a new revelation. "But I'm talking about the one where Sam was talking."

At that, Sam cut in impatiently. "He's talking about the one in Kentucky, a little over a month or so ago."

Castiel nodded. He remembered the house, if only because it was the first time Jimmy had requested that Castiel grab Dean's ass.

Dean glared at his brother. "I thought I had to do this," he challenged him.

Sam did his best to appear nonchalant. "My bad," he apologized.

"Right then." Dean clasped his hands together, in a let's get this show on the road motion, but his face didn't mirror the eagerness of the action. He looked tired and worn, and a little bit remorseful. In fact, his whole demeanor seemed familiar, but Castiel couldn't place it. "Little over a month. Abandoned house. Whatever," he paused, took a deep breath, then, as if he was ripping a bandaid off, rushed the next words out in a single breath, "Are you working with Crowley again?"

And Castiel placed his demeanor. It was the same as the last time Dean had confronted him about his loyalties. Just before Castiel had betrayed him.

Initially, Castiel was speechless. "Why would you think that?" he asked, more confused than anything else. What had he done to make them suspect him of such a thing?

"Answer the damn question!" Dean snapped, flinging himself around so that he was facing the angel in question once more.

Dean may have been shouting, but Sam stood quietly, arms crossed, watching the angel's reaction. He was both surprised and relieved when Castiel's face betrayed nothing but shock—and hurt.

"Of course not," Castiel hissed, taking a step toward Dean. "Do you truly think I'm stupid enough to make the same mistake twice?"

"Abaddon then?" Sam demanded, his voice surprisingly level. "Metatron? Some other jerk we don't know about?"

Castiel ignored him. "After all I've done for you—everything I've done to make up for what I did with Crowley… You still think so little of me as to think I'd do it again?"

Dean couldn't meet his eyes. "We've seen you—" he hiccuped, and it finally occurred to Castiel that the hunter might actually be shedding a tear or two over this, "—getting calls from them. I never bought the 'angel radio' crap, you know."

At that, Castiel relaxed instantly, stepping out of his offensive posture and beginning to laugh. Soon, he was bent over, laughing uncontrollably. After a moment, there was a strangely pleasant ache in his chest.

Dean looked up, surprised. "Cas?" he asked, running an ever-so-manly hand over his face. "You okay, buddy?"

Sam took a tentative step forward, but he was unsure of what to do, so he settled for simply standing where he was. "Cas?"

But Castiel didn't stop. If anything, he seemed to be laughing even harder than before.

"Shit," Dean breathed, as if he'd just had an epiphany. "Cas, are you possessed?"

The second the word left Dean's mouth, Sam retraced his steps, pulling his demon knife out of his belt, though he didn't know what good it would do him.

The knife served to remind Castiel of his surroundings though, and he began making an effort to pull himself together. He found the task oddly difficult, but managed it nonetheless. As soon as he could speak, he locked eyes with Dean. "No," he said firmly, gaze never wavering. "And I can explain."

So he did.

-o-O-o-

By the time Castiel had finished, Sam was entirely grossed out, though relieved. Dean looked like he was about to either pass out or break into dance. Castiel was indecisive as to which of Dean's reactions would be preferable.

When Dean finally began showing signs of speaking again, Sam made a beeline for the Impala, muttering something about finding some brain bleach because he'd seen enough movies and read enough books to know exactly what happened next. So, in an effort to preserve his cognitive abilities, Sam fled, leaving Dean and Castiel alone.

Or so he thought.

I told you so, Jimmy sang in Castiel's head, I told you so, I told you so…

This time, Castiel didn't bother with a shut up. He knew it wouldn't do any good.

Dean's lips found themselves curving into a mischievous grin when he noticed the familiar twitch of Castiel's cheek. "I guess Jimmy's going to be even worse now, 'ey?"

Castiel just sighed. "Insufferable," he agreed.

All hail the almighty ass! Jimmy crowed.